


Ash and Bone

by poor_dumb_killian



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:56:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5985399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poor_dumb_killian/pseuds/poor_dumb_killian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail makes her way to Nassau after leaving the ruined remains of Charlestown, just to discover the Walrus crew was lost at sea. Until one day news reaches port they are limping their way home. Could one fleeting glance mean as much as she thinks, or is she just being a silly little girl with her fantasies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ash and Bone

**Author's Note:**

> We're going to pretend the siege on Nassau isn't happening (yet)... I hate that my shipper heart latched on to 2.5 seconds of a look and now I'm swimming in Ashebones feels with nowhere for them to go... so this came around. There is a good chance I will play around with more stories in this universe. My friend Lena already has. We started a collection, where you can find part 2 of this fic (titled Shirts). I know we wont be able to stay away from this (because we are trash), so keep an eye on the collection for more parts.

She still wasn’t entirely sure how she found herself here. When she boarded the merchant ship, she hadn’t been confident she would make it this far. It had been a gamble that could’ve gone horribly wrong; but somehow her luck held out.

 _Maybe it’s God paying me back for my kidnapping_ , she pondered.

But, then again, if she hadn’t been kidnapped she never would’ve met _him_.

When she arrived back on the sand of Nassau, she was told the Walrus crew had been lost in a hurricane. She wept for the men, for all the lives lost, but mostly she wept for Billy. The boy who had been forced into servitude and was too ashamed to go home when he was freed. She wept for what could’ve been; then she wallowed in her own self-pity.

What was she to do now?

Max had helped her the moment she came on land. She set her up with a small room, and gave her a job at the tavern. She was promised safety, and so far - other than a few handsy men - that promise had been kept. She still wondered why Max was helping, when casting her into the streets would likely be easier. But she worked hard to earn her place, she just hoped it was enough.

Two days ago the whispers reached the tavern: the Walrus was limping home. They had survived and hope sparked in her chest once more.

 _Maybe he’s alive_.

This thought rolled around in her head as she stood on the sand, large skein of water in hand, looking out over the vast sea. The broken sails of the Walrus were just now visible by the naked eye; and as they grew larger, her heart pounded harder.

It was very likely they would all think her a foolish girl. One look exchanged between two people could hardly constitute a reason to risk life and limb to come to a pirate-infested island; an island that would likely be under siege by the Royal Navy very soon. But she had nothing left in Charlestown - quite literally, since Captain Flint had seen to it that the city burned to the ground.

After seeing what “civilized” meant - the blood of her protector and friend pooled on the ground - she didn’t think she could live with another high-born family until they saw it fit to marry her off to the first man to offer them money.

Pirates seemed safer than an unknown husband. She was about to learn if she had made the worst decision of her life.

She watched the anchor drop and the dingies hoisted down to the water. Men started crawling over the side of the ship and into the small crafts. With each row they grew closer. The sound of the oars hitting the water was warring with the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

 _Please be alive_ \- was repeating like a mantra in her head. But as the first dingy drew near, she saw him.

He was thinner than last she saw him. He looked parched, but he was there, alive and breathing. Her legs itched to run to him, but she reigned in her excitement.

 _One look means nothing_ , she reminded herself for the thousandth time since she boarded the merchant ship.

They reached the dock and men swarmed them to help the weakened crew disembark on dry land. Captain Flint was the first to break through the crowd and walk towards the beach, a look of grim determination on his face.

She could tell the moment he spotted her, his steps stuttered and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. He walked right to her and gruffly asked, “Why are you here?”

She could see the sorrow written across his face, and her heart reached out to him for the loss he suffered at her father’s hand. Part of her desperately wanted to know the whole story, but now was not the time. “I - “ she hesitated, trying to find the right words, “I had nothing left in Charlestown.”

This answer seemed to satisfy him. A look of pity and guilt crossed his face before his eyes darted down to the skein of water in her hands. “Is that water?”

She nodded her answer and held the water out to him. He grabbed it and greedily gulped it down. “You’ll make yourself sick if you drink too much,” slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. Her tutors always tried to instill in her that she should think before she spoke, but she could never quite grasp the concept.

He stopped and eyed her strangely for a moment before he partially turned towards the group of men. “Billy!” he shouted, and her throat suddenly seized up in panic.

_Am I that obvious?_

Suddenly Billy stood before her. He was much taller than she remembered, the top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulders. He gave her the same perplexing look she got in the galley all those months ago. “What’re you doing here?”

She was saved from answering as Flint shoved the water towards him. Billy mirrored his captain, gulping it down quickly. She watched the lines of his throat as they worked the water down. He was so strong and powerful, even in his half-starved state she was sure he could pick her up and throw her over his shoulder.

And a very real part of her wanted him to, _God help her_.

“You must be starving,” she finally found her voice, “Max has a vegetable soup prepared for you and your men at the tavern. But you must be careful not to over-do it or you’ll make yourself sick.”

She reached for the water skein as she finished her sentence, making her point that Billy was doing just that. Her fingers brushed his as she took the water. His callused skin left her’s tingling after the brief touch; she wondered if he felt it too.

His lips were so chapped, she wanted to whisk him away and nurse him back to health. But she barely knew him, it was all just silly fantasies.

“But... why are you here?” Billy asked again, he was eying her up and down and she could feel the blush spread across her cheeks.

She bit her lip while she thought of her reply, and his eyes stalled on the movement. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she tried to get control of her vocal cords once more. “I had nothing left back there,” it came out as more of a whisper and she wanted to kick herself. She had sounded so strong when she had spoken to Flint, where was that strength now?

“Surely someone would’ve taken you in,” Billy said with a head-tilt that reminded her of the puppy she had when she was young, “Some high-born family.”

“That would’ve sold me to the first man that offered them money,” she said with a strength and conviction she wished she had moments ago. “Who likely would’ve been cruel to me. At least here... I’m free.”

Her words seemed to satisfy him, as he nodded and turned to Flint, “I'll go inform the men of the soup at the tavern.”

With Flint’s nod, Billy turned and walked back to the crowd of men. The second dingy had arrived as the first rowed back to the ship for more men.

“Thank you,” Flint said, drawing her attention back to him, “For the water.”

“Oh, it was no trouble. I assumed you would be parched.”

“Bit of an understatement, actually,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

* * *

 

Back at the tavern, the Walrus men had been arriving as soon as they stepped foot on the sand. They were all skin and bones, she felt like a mother constantly chiding them for eating or drinking too quickly.

Everytime she passed Billy she could feel his eyes on her. It took all of her willpower not to look back; she just kept her head down and continued to work.

The men cleared out as they finished their bowl. She was under strict instructions to only allow them one bowl each, afraid they would become ill if they were given more. Billy lingered, doting over his crew like a mother hen. It did nothing but endear her more to him.

He seemed to care a great deal for the men he sails with, she never imagined a pirate could have so much integrity.

As the last of the mean cleared out, Billy stood to leave. She wanted to reach out to him, implore him to stay; but she had no right and she certainly didn't want to look like the foolish girl she felt.

He appeared to sway on his feet, and she started to walk to him without thought. She was much too small to catch his weight if he decided to topple over, but maybe she could at least stop his head from bouncing off the hard, dirty floor.

“Are you alright” she asked as she reached for his arm and beseeched him to sit once more. “You’re much too weak to stand so quickly.”

He gave her a strange look as he did what she instructed and collapsed back onto the bench. It was then that she saw the blood soaked through his shirt on his left side.

“Are you injured?” she asked as she reached for the garment without thought.

“It’s nothing,” came his gruff voice as he weakly tried to shoo her away.

“It’s not nothing,” she said as she pulled the shirt up enough to see the bloodied wound. She tried to concentrate on the wound alone, but she couldn’t help but notice the strong lines of his torso. She cleared her throat in an attempt to focus. “In your weakened state, it could be deadly. We must tend to this.”

“We?” he asked with a confused look on his face, “The men can help me care for it.”

He tried to move away from her, tugging at his shirt still clutched in her hand. “Don’t be silly,” she chided, “You’re too weak to be walking back to the beach. I’ll help you.”

He tried to protest, but she was having none of it as she called two of the tavern guards over, “Help him to the nearest available room, please.”

The men nodded in reply and hoisted Billy from the bench and towards the room. She slipped into the kitchen for a bowl of fresh water and linens to cover the wound.

As she walked down the hallway towards the open door where she could hear the grunts of an unhappy man, she tried to calm her beating heart. This was the first time she would be alone with him, and she would be touching his warm flesh.

She had never done anything like this before; it wasn’t proper. But propriety goes out the door when a life is endangered.

 _Especially his_.

She rounded the corner and saw him disgruntled, standing by the bed. The men she had asked to help him were exiting as she entered, grumbling about “bloody stubborn pirates.”

“I don’t need your help, you know,” came his surly voice.

“No, you don’t _need_ it, per se,” she shrugged, “But I’m here and can help. So you should probably just sit down and accept it.”

She wasn’t sure where this courage suddenly came from, to speak to him so openly, but she hoped it stuck around. She was going to need it, judging by his standoffish behavior.

He reluctantly sat on the edge of the bed, as she approached and set the bowl of water and fresh linens on the side table. It felt as if her heart was in her throat as she reached for the hem of his shirt.

“What’re you doing?” he said in an almost panicked rush.

“I can’t very well clean a wound with this filthy shirt covering it,” she said with her arms crossed in defiance.

 _I can be just as stubborn_ \- she thought - _And I’m going to need it_.

She reached for the hem once more, this time without complaint from her patient. She could feel the warm puffs of his breathe on her neck as she pulled the shirt up his back; exposing lean muscle, hardened from his time aboard countless ships.

He lifted his arms over his head as she stepped back and pulled the shirt from his body. She tried to avert her eyes as best she could, already feeling the heat of a blush creeping up her face. He seemed just as unable to make eye contact, looking to and fro, anywhere but her.

His skin was tanned, and even after weeks of malnourishment his body was still all muscle and man. She had to resist the temptation to reach out and touch him for no reason; overly curious of what a muscled chest actually felt like.

As she reached for a wet cloth to start tending the wound, she felt a need to fill the awkward silence. “The whole island thought you were lost. Apparently, Captain Hornigold was boasting he had put an end to Captain Flint and his crew.”

She wouldn’t dare look up as she started dabbing at the flesh around the wound, but heard him reply, “He certainly put in an effort.”

Silence filled the room once more, and she wanted to huff in frustration at his lack of effort in conversation.

Having cleaned the skin around his gash, she started to work on the wound itself. She felt bad as she heard his hiss of pain, but there was nothing that could be done - it had to be cleaned and bandaged. “I’m sorry,” still slipped from her mouth as she continued her work.

“It’s alright,” was all he said through clenched teeth.

“How long ago did you get this wound?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“A few days,” was his - once again brief - response.

“How did you get it?” Her tutors used to be angry with her when she asked too many questions, but she tended to lose all control of her vocal cords when she was nervous.

“We came upon an island, hoping to restock our water,” she could feel his eyes on her, but still adamantly refused to look anywhere but his side, “Ran into some unfriendlies.”

“You are infuriatingly vague, Mr. Manderly, did you know that?” She couldn’t have stopped it from spilling from her mouth if she tried. Her cheeks flushed hot but she finally chanced glancing up at him and saw a shocked grin spread across his face.

“How’d you know my name?” he asked with another head tilt.

“Captain Flint told me,” she distracted herself by refreshing her cloth and once again tending to him, “That night in the galley, when you came to give him a status update.” She wished she knew how to stop herself from talking, but it was a skill she had yet to acquire.

“I had no idea he actually knew my real name,” Billy said with a small chuckle that turned into another hiss as she worked some grime from his cut.

“I’m almost done cleaning this,” she hesitated, looking at the dirt that covered his torso, “But there’s no point in me wrapping a clean bandage around you when you’re this dirty.”

“I can manage cleaning myself up.”

“Really?” she stopped and looked up at him with a quirked brow, “So you can twist and clean your back with this gaping wound on your side?”

“It’s not gaping,” he huffed, “Don’t be over dramatic.”

“My point still stands,” she stood and grabbed a fresh rag before reluctantly handing it to him, “You can clean your front, turn around and I’ll clean your back.”

“This is really unnecessary,” came his petulant response.

“And yet,” she smiled, “It’s going to happen whether you like it or not. You might as well cooperate, you’re in no shape to fight.”

“You think you could over power me?” he smiled and her heart stuttered. That was the first time she had seen him truly smile, and she wanted to see it again.

“I think you underestimate me, Mr. Manderly,” she crossed her arms once more, challenging him to say otherwise.

“Call me Billy,” was all he replied before turning and allowing her to clean his back.

“Alright… Billy,” his name sounded sweet on her tongue as she started to wipe down his back. It was littered with scars; each one no doubt had a story. But the man of few words sitting before her wasn’t likely to share.

She had to resist the urge to trace the lines of his muscles, concentrating instead on her task at hand. All too soon his back was clean, she had no more reason to touch him. After weeks of thinking she would never see him again, she wished to live in this moment for an eternity.

She stood once more and walked to retrieve the linen for his bandage. When she turned around she caught his eyes on her. He had turned to face forward again, his torso now mostly free from grime and dirt. His skin glistened in the light that filtered in through the windows. She subconsciously licked her lips, curious to what his skin would taste like.

All thoughts a proper lady shouldn’t be having.

 _But I’m not a proper lady anymore_ , she reminded herself, _and I can never go back_.

He cleared his throat and her eyes darted up; realizing too late she had been blatantly staring, lost in her own head. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Ashe.”

“Here I was thinking I had to force my help upon you,” she smiled meekly as she gingerly placed the bandage on the cut. “Hold this, please? So I can secure it in place.”

He didn’t say anything, just place his large hand over her small one. It was rough and warm, and she found herself not wanting to pull away, but she eventually did. “And, it’s Abigail,” she said quietly as she wrapped his lean torso with linen.

“Well then, thank you Abigail,” he moved as if to stand after she secured the bandage.

She placed her hand firmly on his chest and shoved him back down. “You need to rest,” she tried to ignore the firmness of his muscular chest beneath her fingers, “You’re in no condition to go wandering.”

“You’re stronger than you look,” was all he said, no longer straining to stand.

“As I said, you underestimate me,” she shrugged with a grin and put on her best motherly look, “Now take off your boots and lie down for a while. When you wake you can have more soup.”

“You’re a bit bossy,” he tugged at his boots, “Did you know that?”

“I'm well aware,” was her response as she moved his boots to the foot of the bed and poured him fresh water into a clean mug. She set it on the table by the bed, but before she could turn to leave a particularly nasty scar caught her eye. This one ran across his shoulder, like someone had buried their sword in his flesh. Her fingers reached out before she could control them and traced the scar. She heard his intake of breath as her finger caressed the damaged skin and stopped, “I’m sorry, my curiosity gets the best of me sometimes.”

She moved to step away, before his hand closed over hers; effectively trapping her hand against his shoulder, “It’s alright.” She could see his eyelids growing heavy, the act of laying down immediately lulling him into dreams. “I’ll tell you about it sometime,” came his raspy voice.

Before she could respond, he was fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> WE NEED MORE ASHEBONES FICS. GET ON IT PEOPLE.


End file.
